Breaking the Silence
by TheCatInTheShadows
Summary: John and Sherlock are back, and Moran is after them both. Maybe our heroes finally realize how much more they feel toward each other before it's too late. eventually Johnlock, but nothing graphic, post-R. T for reasons
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

_Month after Sherlock's funeral_

Mrs Hudson watched sadly how Watson closed his small suitcase.

"Are you sure?" She asked third time that day and John nodded.

"I can't… I have to go." He said, observing his room what had been his real home after Afghanistan for some time. But now there was just memories, happy but painful memories what he wanted to forget.

"But to Africa?" Mrs Hudson asked, again. John stepped closer and hugged her. "It's so far away." His landlady sniffed.

"Exactly." John whispered on her ear.

"It's a war zone!" Mrs Hudson cried. John closed his eyes, pushing back his tears.

"I know. I'm used to it." John tried to smile surely, but Mrs. Hudson shook her head and asked again. "Are you sure?"

How much John wanted to say that no, he wasn't. But he wanted to leave. He just has to. The pain in his chest was just too much to bear right now. Being somewhere else, helping people, which was good choice to do.

"Yes. I… I come back. Someday. Now I just can't stay and… I'm used to war and there are people who need help. I fit there perfectly. It's only two years, and then I'm back." John promised and grabbed the bag. Mrs Hudson eyed him.

"Just sent me messages that I know that you are… alive."

John couldn't say anything. He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and was gone before he saw Mrs Hudson's tears.

Next three month she regularly received a message from John. Then they suddenly stopped coming. Month later she received a message from MSF that John H. Watson was missing due the attack on small African village. He was saved all the children from the hospital. No one believed that he was alive.

#

_Six month after the funeral_

"Do something!" Sherlock yelled to his brother who just calmly stared back.

"I have already done what I can. And I can't do anything more. You know that." Mycroft said quietly. Sherlock stormed to the window and watched how the snow covered the land.

"So he's dead. And it's my fault." Sherlock whispered finally. Mycroft eyed his brother and shook his head. "It was his choice to leave. He wanted to help people. And he was a soldier; he _knew_ what he was doing."

"Did he? Did he really? If I hadn't faked my death, he had never left. Why I didn't told him?" Sherlock pressed his forehead against the window.

"You protected him from..."

"How? Was this _protected_ by _me_?" Sherlock roared and his hand wiped the nearest flower vase on the floor. Mycroft shook his head again but didn't said anything. He watched his brother's grief and felt sorry. After John had came along with Sherlock, everything was slowly chanced around his brother. Mycroft was watched how Sherlock was chanced. And because of that Sherlock was pretended his own death, left everything, knowing that someday he would gain it all back. And now this; John, his best friend has left and killed.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I miss him too." Mycroft sighed. Sherlock stared the broken vase. _John is gone_, was his only though and he couldn't believe it.

_#_

_18 month later_

Warm water drops covered him when he stood still under the shower and let the water push away all the stiffness. He couldn't say how long he was there, not thinking anything, just feeling. The tears mixed with water until there was nothing left and he finally turned the shower off and wrapped himself with a towel. When he walked barefoot drying his too long hair into the living room he stopped and nodded his greetings to Mycroft who sat Sherlock's chair waiting him.

Of course Mycroft knew that he was back.

"Good to see you again." John smiled warmly and sat.

"Good to see you too. I though that we lost you." Mycroft's eyes studied the younger man front of him. The old shoulder wound was gained some new companion. There was old burning marks and lot of scars. He noticed two missing toe. But the worst was the red scar on the back. How John was survived? Again.

"I though so too for a moment." John's eyes wandered off and Mycroft saw the sadness and the hardness what last two years had built there. Mycroft hesitated. Now when he had seen John, he didn't knew was this right thing to do, but he leaned forward over his umbrella. "I've got a job offer for you."

"I just came back Mycroft." John sighed not looking the man.

"It can't wait."

"Why?" Now John's eyes locked him and Mycroft tried to keep himself as cold as ice front of those eyes. What kind of hell he had gone through? He didn't know details.

"Because the plane leave tomorrow, and you should be there then."

"What plane?"

"The plane what will take you there where you can train yourself that you can work for me." Now it was said.

"I just came back." John repeated and Mycroft retreated and he casually rolled the umbrella. What to do? John could say no after everything. And because he was Sherlock's brother.

"I offer you a war John. A war beside of me. Something what you haven't experienced yet. I know and I can guess rest that you have seen too much in your lifetime, too much different kind of wars. If you are up to some more, be here tomorrow." Mycroft rose and put the neatly folded paper on the table. Then he stopped beside of John and smiled. His hand touched the shoulder lightly.

"We missed you John."

"But you still ask me to leave again."

"It's your choice, like always. I'm offering this occasion to you because I think we will need you someday. And, because what you have gone through you are too valuable to us to lose you for some pity small clinic. Again."

Oh, he had been too late last time after Sherlock's _death_.

"Mycroft." John's voice was now hard and Mycroft noticed the silent warning. "I'm a doctor."

"Not anymore John. Not anymore." Mycroft's voice was dry like sand that John still could feel under his feet. How he hated and loved it.

"Did you told anyone? About me?" John asked.

"No. Not to anyone" _Not even Sherlock_, Mycroft almost added. "Everyone still think that you are missing, and probably dead. Did you?"

"Not even Harry know. When I came I just wanted to be in peace, alone for a moment."

"I though so."

"And still you are here, offering a job." John almost laughed. Almost. Mycroft looked away.

"But I will found you other job, as a doctor, if you really want it. Your choice. Goodbye."

John didn't rose and walked him to the door. He just sat, not feeling the cold what slowly crept to full the empty room. He was used to the cold and warmness what burned. And the darkness. Not anyone who really recognized him knew that he was back in London, that he was after all alive almost two years after his disappearance in Africa.

He finally rose and walked there where his minor belongings were. He took the silver medallion and opened it.

"Mary." He whispered and smiled at the picture. "I promised to you that I will not give up. I'm afraid that if I stay I will give up eventually, being here, at home. I get your testament yesterday. You made me really wealthy man. I could just be, but you know me. Too many ghosts behind me to face. I afraid that I can't do that just yet. Too eager to war. Forgive me that I leave again."

And that was it.

Next morning he was waiting eagerly to see what next.

Mycroft was there. They watched how the people walked over the small empty field and stepped inside the private plane.

"You knew that I would come."

"Yes. I know you Doctor John Hamish Watson. Even after what you went through in Afghanistan and with Sherlock and in Africa, you are soldier with bottom up."

"How long?"

"Maybe six month. After that you will come as my personal assistant with Anthea."

"Like Anthea?" John's eyebrow rose a little.

"Nothing like Anthea. Although that she can kill by his little finger, you will be come my weapon John."

John though a moment. What a hell he was doing?

"And what happened to your last weapon?"

Mycroft sighed. "I don't lie to you John. She got killed on a job. You are only scratched the surf of my world when you were with Sherlock, running around the city and the country like a mad men what you were."

"And still you offer me this job."

Mycroft spun around, stepped forward, halted and smiled, tilting his head a little.

"And still you are willing to take it."

John grinned.

"Holmes, never expecting anything less."

Mycroft whirled his umbrella walking away. "See you again dear Watson."

John watched him leave and the plane what was ready to leave. "And here I go again."

* * *

_**MSF = Medecins Sans Frontieres (doctors without borders)**_


	2. The weapon

_**Three years after fall**_

"Japp." Lestrade greeted when he saw ID James Japp's running toward him front of Yard.

"Lestrade." Japp stopped. He looked like he had swallowed a lemon. "Say, when you worked with that Sherlock, was it always this difficult?"

"What was?"

"That damn _Poirot_, calling me again, he said that I arrested wrong man. Can you believe it?! This is third time in month! But he's good, smart, and former cop, I have to admit that. But he and his, his…" Japp lost his word trying to describe the young private detective.

Lestrade smiled sadly. "Yes, sounds a like. Good luck with him."

Japp rolled his eyes. "Oh, maybe I should warn you. Jury and Plant…"

Lestrade raised his hand and stopped him to say more. "I don't want to know, really."

"Yes, maybe I don't want to know either. But there is someone waiting you on your office."

"Oh?"

But Japp was already gone and Lestrade entered the building. When he walked through the corridors he was preoccupied to remember the events of three years ago. He had felt Sherlock more than five years. Seen him at worst and then perhaps at his best when Watson had stepped on the scene. He stopped to catch his breath. The thought haunted him still. He had lost both of his friends and felt a nasty sting which was a mess of guilt and longing. Those thoughts circling around his head he greeted now ID Donovan, not realizing that she looked bit abashed, not greeting back her boss.

He walked on his office, taking his jacked off not fully registering the man who was waiting him.

"How I can help?" He turned to look and halted.

"Hello Greg." Familiar face greeted him and Lestrade though that his eyes were betraying him.

"John?"

John Watson, standing middle of his office, leaning on his cane. _Cane_? Familiar black jacket, short blond hair and that shy smile. Greg pulled John on hug and didn't want to let go.

"You are home. God, you are at home. What a hell happened? John? We all though that you were lost. That I lost you too. That you died too. I … John?"

How bitter that laugh was.

"Sorry, been in Canada and Australia after Africa."

"Why didn't you told us that you are alive? God John, how could you?" Lestrade hold him on his shoulder, really watching the man front of him. The eyes, the smile didn't reach them. So sad eyes that it hurt to watch.

"Lot happened." John shrugged and Lestrade didn't ask. He knew that eventually John would tell him if he wanted. More important was that John was back. And in his office.

"And how in hell you are here in my office?" Lestrade frowned.

"Official mater I'm afraid." John sighed when Lestrade finally let him go and walked to sot behind his desk.

"Official? You?"

John offered him his badge. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"Really? How?"

"Mycroft."

Bit of silence when Lestarde considered the new information and tried to internalize it.

"Of course. So, how can I help you _sir_?"

John grimaced. "Don't do that."

Lestrade grinned. "So?"

Something chanced. John suddenly felt cooler and more, _professional_. His voice lost the warmness.

"The case of that serial killer. The Sniper. I need all the case files. Every note what had made. And I mean _everything_."

"Can I ask why?" Lestrade asked although he already knew the answer. It was always like this.

"We take over."

"Why on earth you do so?" Again one obvious question.

"Can't say."

They stared for a moment and Lestrade sighed. "Can't be helped I guess. Sit down and wait. I collect them all. Meanwhile you have to sign some papers because of that.

"Already done." John smiled slyly.

"Of course. Where?"

"Superintendent."

"Oh, I bet he was glad when he saw you." Oh how much he wished that he had been a fly on the roof when John had met his boss. "Went well? Not hitting him again?"

"No need, this time. But he was little red faced when I left."

"I bet. Café? I don't offer you tea because you know what shit that is in here."

"Oh yes, please."

#

Mycroft never told why he wanted John to act and take over the case from Yard. And John never asked. Once Mycroft went through the files it wasn't so hard to find out the next target and the location. John had to admit that Mycroft's cold logic was more efficient than Sherlock.

The Sniper,_ mid thirties ex-military from U.S.A. army,_ was on his knees with his hands up, eyes locked at John who stood above him his gun ready. They were in the roof, high above the busy streets. The Sniper was annoyed and wondered who the blonde man was. This was a successful sneak up behind him without any warning and disarmed him _very_ quickly and efficiently. And he looked so _ordinary_.

"So, dare to tell me, who's your boss." John asked because from the beginning it was certain that The Sniper was hired gun, not actual serial killer.

"Moran." The Sniper hissed angrily. John inhaled sharply. He knew that name. It brought back bad memories over the years.

"Sebastian Moran?"

The Sniper stirred his eyes. "Yes. Let me go. If you take my life, do you know what you'll get? You won't like what it is." he screamed. He couldn't believe he was captured and that man would just shoot him.

"I know."

And the Sniper could see only merciless eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Just a weapon, and you are just the next in line."

John aimed his gun and without hesitation shot. The blood splattered over his shoes but he didn't mind. He felt sick, sick of himself and his own reaction. He had killed lot of people, in war, and with Sherlock as order to protect. But this was something else. He had accepted this, of course. He knew that he was doing somehow right thing to do (sometimes) and like he had said, he was just a weapon, hired gun. But still. He was just afraid that he would get used to this.

John took his phone out and dialed the number out of his memory.

"Clean up."

He shut the phone and deleted the number. Then he walked away, trusting, _knowing_ that others would clean the mess. He picked up his cane and his limp was back again. Two blocks later Mycroft's car rolled beside of him.

"Sebastian Moran? Are you sure?" Mycroft asked his voice suddenly icy.

"Yes." John didn't even flinched anymore that voice what meant danger to anyone who was about to meddle with Mycroft and his team. By now he had seen and heard more worse.

"So, he's back. I was right. Do you know him John?" Mycroft asked looking at him.

"Yes." John watched out of the car's window his mind going back to his early years in Army." He was my commander when I was in Iraq. He… disappeared. He wasn't exactly a good man. But you know that already, don't you? You know what he did."

Mycroft moved a bit what told John that he felt himself uncomfortable. So he had read about it. John's smile was dry.

"Yes. Two years ago I got some news about him. John, he was Moriarty's left hand, his watchdog."

John straightened, his eyes focused when he turned to watch Mycroft. "So that's why you send me the Yard. _Moriarty_."

"Moran left the country when Moriarty died. But it seems that he had come back some reasons. I have to make contact to… "Mycroft fell silent and he just glanced at Anthea who nodded, her eyes briefly glancing over his iPhone. "Yes sir."

"I want to know where he is. He has to be here in London. _Both_ of them. If he truly is here, then it's time." Mycroft's jaw tightened.

"What is going on Mycroft?"

"It's time to tell you the truth John. And before that I have to say that I'm sorry and that it all was his idea, I helped because he asked. Because he _begged_ me."

John stared him and felt himself suddenly nervous.

"You are good man John. And this… What he did to you… If you want, you never have to see him ever again. Say a word and I will do anything to hide you away from him. You are one of mine now John and I will watch over you."

Anthea smiled at John before she disappeared again behind his phone. Now very confused John watched his closest co-worker and his boss. They hide something from him. Why?

"What are you talking about Mycroft? Whom you are talking about?" John said softly, when the man avoided his gaze before finally answering.

"Sherlock is alive."


	3. He is alive?

"STOP THIS FUCKING CAR!" John yelled and was out before the car stopped. Nothing, absolutely nothing was prepared him for this. It was like someone had punched the air out of him when he stumbled out. World was spinning around him.

"You have to be joke. And it's cruel joke Mycroft." John said leaning side of the lamp-post trying to breath.

But he could see that Mycroft was serious. Last five month John was learned lot of older Holmes brother. He wasn't so hard to read when you knew his younger brother. They were too many way very similar, although also so many way different.

"He thinks that you are dead." Mycroft said, standing near of him, his voice low and his eyes studying the surroundings. John blinked, trying to understand. Too much too fast.

"Dead? Me? _What_?"

Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes. "When you disappeared and you were assumed to be dead. I tried to find you then and I failed. After that Sherlock had been very much out of my reach. I haven't heard anything from him after your return so I haven't told him yet. So, what I know he think you are dead or he should be here already."

_Was this real? _John noticed how his left hand was trembling. It hadn't trembled for a long time now.

"He… he thinks that I'm dead? And I though he's dead. Mycroft, please, don't mess with me. Please, just, don't." It's so confusing. Sherlock thinking that _he_ was dead? Was this some kind of irony of life? Mycroft stepped closer, leaned forward, watching him carefully, but his mask never dropping. Not outside like this. But there was something in his voice what John couldn't understand.

"I stopped looking you John. Sherlock never forgave me that. When he _left_ I promised to him that I would take care of you, and I failed."

John laughed painfully and it turned out more like a hysterical giggle. "And now I work for you. Was that part of you great plan?"

Mycroft stiffened. "Yes."

John shook his head, he had should know from the beginning. "How _kind_ of you _Mycroft_."

Mycroft looked away. "I wanted to keep you as close as possible after your return. I didn't want to lose you too. Again."

John stared Mycroft and saw no emotions, but those words still hit. Mycroft wasn't doing this all just because of Sherlock. Mycroft was doing this because of _him_?

"Thank you." John tried to calm down, think more reasonably. It took time and they just stood there. "So, he faked his own death. Why?" John finally asked.

"Lets go back inside the car now that you are calmed down enough. We are not safe here."

John nodded and they went back. Anthea didn't dare to look up.

"To protect you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. There were snipers, ready to kill you three. If Sherlock had not jumped, then you would be dead. That was the price. But he guessed, no, he _knew_ that Moriarty was up something like that. Fortunately, or no, they though very similarly at some point." Mycroft sighed, letting some of his icy mask to drop.

"What a frightening idea." John murmured. He couldn't think Sherlock and Moriarty in same sentence. Similar yes, but not the same. He remembered that last call and closed his eyes. It all was coming back, everything what he though he had left behind. He though that he had left Sherlock and his enemy behind after the funeral. He had met Mary, beautiful Mary who had also died in his arms. He had accepted all of that, all those deaths. All his loved ones who had died and left him behind. And now, now Sherlock was alive?

"How he could do that to me. How could he? Even if our life was in stake. Watching him how he…"

_Fall._

"God, he thinks I died. He doesn't know. Maybe, maybe he had already deleted me on his mind." John grimaced but Mycroft shook his head.

"Never you John. Never you." Mycroft's voice was so quiet and soft. "You mean for him lot more than you maybe realize. He planned to come back someday, after he had hunted down all the Moriarty's men. He was coming back to you, trusting that you would wait him."

John didn't know what to think. He cleared his throat, pushing pack his tears.

"Moran."

"Yes, Moriarty's lapdog. Still free and I bet that Sherlock is after him right now. Here in London."

"That arrogant git." John bent over his knees, buried his head on his hands. He was beyond angry. One miracle, one tiny miracle had come true. Sherlock was alive. Alive. But hunting, not knowing that John was there, also hunting. Mycroft continued.

"When I reach him again, and I though he may call me soon, I can…"

"No, don't tell about me to him." John interrupted him. Now Mycroft actually looked surprised. "John?"

"I want to tell him myself. Face to face." No, he didn't, but he _have_ to. Not like this, not through the phone call or someone else telling you the truth.

"Don't do anything rash John." Mycroft warned.

"Me? You know me Mycroft." John laughed bitterly and leaned back again.

"Yes, yes I do know you John. Alright, you tell him when you meet him again. And I make sure that I'm not there then. Maybe not even in country." Mycroft muttered.

"May be better that way." John grinned. Mycroft moved uncomfortably and John just knew that the next words would be hard to Mycroft to say aloud. "I'm sorry John that this came out like this, I don't…"

But John didn't let him continue. "Don't Mycroft. You did what he asked. I can't blame you. I forgive you everything years ago. And you saved me."

"I never saved you from…"

"No, after that. When you offered _your_ war to me. Thank you." Saved by Holmes brothers, that was just his life, John sighed. Mycroft was brave enough to smile.

"You would choose otherwise. Maybe building your own practice. You are a doctor after all. And _very_ wealthy man."

But John just smiled, watching how the city lights left at night the ghosts of normal peoples. This wasn't normal. Nothing in this was normal. His life was so much more.

"No I'm not. Not just a doctor. Not just a soldier or a weapon. Those days in Sahara with Mary, chanced me too much that I would never be anything like just a doctor. Even before that, I was already chanced my way. With Sherlock…" John couldn't think anymore. They fell in silence until Anthea spoke.

"Found him."


	4. Home sweet home

_4am Mycroft's home_

"Mrs Hudson sold the house soon after John went missing." Mycroft answered and Sherlock felt like there was a hole in his stomach. He had always though about it. Baker Street, their home. John waiting there. Of course John would never wait him; Sherlock had been dead for him. And now that John was gone, Sherlock couldn't be back. Not in Baker Street. Never again.

"Maybe I move India after this."

Mycroft snorted. He studied his younger brother. Thinner, but other ways seemed healthy enough. When he had send the car and Anthea to pick up Sherlock he had been afraid what he would see. He had came straight at home to wait. The night was turned out to be one of stressful one on his life. Sherlock seemed lost on his own world.

"So, you are after Sebastian Moran." Mycroft said finally when the silence seemed to just get longer. Sherlock turned to look him, but not bothered to ask how Mycroft knew.

"The last of them. Then this is over." Sherlock slumped on the sofa, crossing his long legs. Then his eyes picked up the Violin on the window corner. It was his Stradivarius. He hadn't played at all over these three years. He rose again and walked to get back what belonged to him. His fingers found the strings and he started automatically tune the instrument. Remembering how he usually played it when John couldn't sleep because the nightmares. Walking again around the study he stopped to stand near the fireplace and again his eyes picked up something familiar.

"My own man took care of one of Moran's man this night. I just came back." Mycroft was like he hadn't noticed how Sherlock stared the picture, how his hand reached out and the one elegant finger gently touched John's face. On the side table there was group of photographs, all of them silver framed. Mummy. Sherlock and Mycroft when they were younger and more like brothers than rivals. Mycroft's ex-wife and their son. And Sherlock and John. The last one was taken soon after Baskerville-case. First time when John had been visited Mycroft's home. They sat in the patio; John holding teacup, laughing, his head tilted little bit back. Sherlock watching him fondly, smiling. Baskerville had chanced their relationship. Their always round and round going friendship was finally settled down after that. John was gave up to trying to do other work as a doctor and accepted that he and Sherlock would work together what ever would come around. But still, they never admitted to each others something what was so obvious to others from the beginning. Then Moriarty had came back and Sherlock had lost his last chance. Mycroft suppressed his sigh. Of course, he had been part of that fiasco. He had never dreamed the out coming, how it had destroyed some lives. But, now, there may be one chance.

"So, what is your great plan?" Mycroft asked.

"A trap." Sherlock said, tearing his gaze from John. He couldn't believe how much he missed the man. He had always, _always_ trusted John being there, following him. How in the hell's name he had abandoned him after his fall?

"A trap." Mycroft leaned his chin on his hands staring his brother curiously.

"I being a bait."

Mycroft nodded. Dangerous plan.

"That's why I have to come out. Be alive again."

Very dangerous.

"I ask Lestrade's help. Yard can't say anything to me, my reputation is clear now."

"Thanks to me." Mycroft leaned back. It hadn't take long, just couple weeks after the fall, just before the funeral, when he had leaked some information and in six months Sherlock's name was clear again. "And the press?"

"Irrelevant."

Mycroft's one eyebrow rose a bit, but he didn't said anything. He made a mental note to deal the press himself.

"What kind of help you ask from Lestrade and Yard?"

"The case. You have something. You always have something what you want me to deal for you."

"Maybe." Mycroft think was there anything where Yard could interrupt. Usually his jobs were highly classified. He had to ask from Anthea. "In one condition Sherlock."

"What now?"

"You take one of my men with you."

"No."

"Then no, I don't help you. I make you disappear and that's it, I deal Moran myself."

"You dare…!" Sherlock fury started to rose and Mycroft voice went cold.

"Then you accept my bodyguard to you. Moran will come after you when he finally knows that you are alive."

"Just how I want it."

"But first he goes after Lestrade and Mrs Hudson."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have studied Moran over two years. I know how he thinks. What ever Moriarty said to him, Moran is more practical. He's going to deal just me. If John would be alive, Moran could go after him first but no after Lestrade or Mrs Hudson. Moran knows better. He's not psychopath like Moriarty was. He is not so twisted. He'll take his revenge out from me only." Sherlock explained, leaning now over the Mycroft's desk.

"And that's why my man comes with you."

"Oh for hev…" Sherlock slammed his hands on the desk.

"Sherlock, that's my final request."

Sherlock stared him and gave up. "Alright. Maybe I can deal him so that I don't have to be contact with you personally. I hope he's not totally idiot. I can't handle idiots around me."

"I have one perfect man to you. When you start this plan?"

Sherlock lifted up and walked back the windows ide and placed the violin on its place. "Tomorrow, after I have visited Mrs Hudson and Molly. Then I go meet Lestrade to Yard with your case."

"I send him there then. Let me know the time."

Sherlock was already walking out of the room. "Go sleep and don't eat at night, you got fatter."

"You miss him still." Mycroft couldn't resist to say it aloud. Sherlock stopped and his voice was suddenly dangerously low. "And you failed to keep him safe."

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. "I can't do miracles Sherlock. And it was you who died first and left him behind." Mycroft's word were rasher than he meant but he didn't took them back. Sherlock hand went white when he grasped hard the door's handle. "After this Mycroft, I don't want to hear anything from you." And he left.

Mycroft sighed and smiled. "Always so dramatic." He opened the drawer and took one more silver framed picture. It was Mycroft and John, again John laughing for something what Anthea had said and Mycroft rolling his eyes. It had been one of those rare quiet good days. They had been in Edinburg. First day when John had really laughed after coming back. He stood up, walked to put the picture on its place, again reorganising them, thinking was Sherlock noticed anything.


	5. Memories

Sherlock had noticed the missing picture, but he didn't think about it so much. It maybe was Mycroft's new wife or a boyfriend? For a moment he though about his nephew who lived in Switzerland with his mother Helen. He would be soon seventeen. Maybe he could visit there. James reminded him from John. Not outwardly, he was more like Sherlock, but they have same nature, caring protective nature. James probably wanted to go army. How he would have loved to meet John. And John…

It hurt. Day by day it hurt more. Now, back in England, it hurt even more. There was no home to him anymore. He didn't want to go Holmes manor with mummy. He had left that place behind of him a long time ago. India, or maybe Africa. Maybe he could went and look John. John…

He fell asleep and woke up when the car finally stopped. They were outside of the small house middle of the country. Mrs Hudson's sister's home. It was half seven when he knocked on the door and waited.

He had hoped that it would be the sister who would open the door, but no, it was Mrs Hudson. She stared him. Long time they just stared each other. Sherlock couldn't say anything. There wasn't much what to say.

"Sherlock."

"Mrs Hudson. I'm so sorry that I…"

"It's you. It's you Sherlock." The warm hands took his face between them. "You are alive."

"Yes."

"You're back. You're not dead. What…? How? _Why_? Why did you… God, Sherlock, how could you do that? What ever reason, how could you? You broke our hearts. I lost you. I lost you both. Sherlock!"

And Mrs Hudson started to cry. It took whole morning to her calm down. Her sister served the breakfast but they couldn't eat. Sherlock just hold her, let her cry. He explained everything. Finally Mrs Hudson retreated in the bedroom and Sherlock walked over the small living room. There were some items what he recognised from the Baker Street.

And there it was again; picture of John. John in his army gears, bit younger, before Sherlock had met him. And the other picture where he and John just sat on their living room front of the fireplace. They were oblivious that Mrs Hudson was sneaked in and taken the photo. John was reading the paper peacefully and Sherlock staring the ceilings absorbed in his own thoughts. How homely picture that was. Sherlock missed those days. John and him, together at home. Those boring days when nothing happened and John was the only one who dared to stand up against him. And Sherlock would obey. John…

"I still wish." Mrs Hudson sniffed. "That he would be still alive. Somewhere there. That he survived. That he's happy. I know that the chances to those are minimal but, even so, I hope, that someday he will be at home again."

"How's Harry?" Sherlock asked suddenly, first time remembering John's sister. How he could have forgotten her? When she would know about Sherlock the hell would open.

"What I have heard, drinking again. We haven't been in touch some time now. Even when John and she weren't so close, John was good to her after he came back from Afghanistan. I met her when she came pick up John's belongings. She was broke. She couldn't understand why he left again. She gave me that picture, said that she never wanted to see him in that uniform again."

"I never saw him in it. He looks good. Born to be a soldier and a doctor. I remember those times when just his commanding voice saved us. Or his skills as a doctor. He hide everything what reminded him of the army. The PTSD was enough to him, the war always haunted him. Those nights when he screamed were the worst. Especially after difficult and long case. Never after if he had to kill someone, it never haunted him." Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. Those memories. John…

"You saved him, he saved you." Mrs Hudson simply said and smiled. "I'm glad that you are back. It gives hope."

Those words hurt. Could he actually hope? Mycroft was searched. _He_ was searched. Hope? There wasn't hope. Not anymore. But he couldn't say it aloud. Not to Mrs Hudson.

"I have to go. There will be some Mycroft's men keeping eye on you. My return, it won't be easy. I still have my enemies."

"Of course." Mrs Hudson accepted the news like always, with calmness. She had seen a lot. "I see you again soon I hope."

"Yes. Bye Mrs Hudson."

But before he had time to leave, Mrs Hudson took his hand. "Be careful. I can't… bury you again."

For that Sherlock just hugged her.

#

Molly, who actually knew him being alive, hugged him fast, smiling ear to ear and gave him the case files what Mycroft was send to him.

"I have to go work. You can stay as long you want of course. Your old stuffs are in quest room. I'm not home until midnight. Don't break anything!" She added when she left and shut the door. Sherlock opened the case files and studied it.

"Brilliant." Sherlock muttered and before long the papers were all over the walls and floors, London's map opened and three nicotine plasters on his arm.

#

Next morning, after long night, not sleeping, not eating (he had drunk some tea when Molly was insist that he have to drink _something_), Sherlock opened the door of New Scotland Yard and gave the shock wave through the building. Oh how he smiled when he walked like he owned the place, stood in elevator beside the dumbfounded Anderson (Really? _Still_ there? That idiot!) and greeted Gregson who stared after him with shock.

"Lestrade how nice to see you again!" He greeted happily when he opened the door and faced his friend. Lestrade looked up, nodded and referred him to sit.

"Good to see you too."

Sherlock glared him.

"You knew. Did Mycroft…"

"Not him. Sit and close the door. You have caused already too many heart attacks today. And it's only half eight."

Sherlock smiled and sit. "They deserved it. Hmm, he isn't here yet?"

"Coming soon, I guess." Lestrade murmured, not looking up on his papers.

"You know him?"

"Of course I know him, he…" Lestrade looked up and hold his tongue. He stirred his eyes. "I guess you mean that Mycroft's man?"

"Who else I could mean? He supposed to be here already. But you have obviously met him before."

"You don't know?" Lestrade leaned back on his seat and grinned.

"Know what?"

"Oh, this is brilliant." And his smile just widened. "Yes, I can say so. Met him three days ago."

"So he was the one who told you."

"Yes. I have to say it was bit of shock, but after meeting him, well, I can only say that it wasn't so surprising to hear that you are alive after all."

Sherlock frowned. "What are you saying?"

"That he already met some one who he though was dead." Someone say on the doorway.

It was familiar voice.

Sherlock shut his eyes.

He couldn't turn and watch.

"Mycroft told me about you." The voice said. Calm voice, full of charm.

John…

He turned.

He rose.

John.

His John.

Alive.

"Hello Sherlock. Welcome back." John smiled sadly.


	6. The plan

He hit him.

Of course he hit him.

When Sherlock stepped closer, he couldn't do anything else than punch on his face.

Hard.

And it felt good.

"You damn fool!" John started to yell when Sherlock swayed backward. Lestrade rose and quickly stepped between them, fearful of what was to come.

"John, calm down." He asked but John was on the move. John's cane rose menacingly.

"No, I have no reason to calm down! You hear me you Sherlock?! I could kill you myself! You arrogant git! You went and jumped! YOU JUMPED RIGHT FRONT OF ME!"

"John…" Sherlock hold his nose. This was exactly what he though would happen. Nothing less, maybe even more. John, yelling, hitting, but he hadn't broken Sherlock's nose what was a miracle.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" John still yelled.

"John, listen…"

John put his finger up silencing his old friend and now his voice was more hissing.

"Oh don't you try. Mycroft told me your reasons. I can understand why you did that. Perfectly fine. But right front of me? I never forgive you that one. Never." John's word was final and it hurt to hear. Even Lestrade winched.

"Mycroft told you." Sherlock was unpleasant to hear that. There would be big conversation ahead with his big brother about the situation. John looked away.

"Three days ago. Same day when Lestrade and I met. Same day when I took care of that sniper."

Lestrade sighed. He really shouldn't heard _that_ one and was clad that John was shut the door behind of him. Sherlock watched more intensive at John. Usually John avoided bringing up the soldier inside of him. Usually he hid his dangerous, his very _deadly_ side of him. Purposefully hid himself under those hideous jumpers and his doctor mode. He makes everyone forget that he was soldier. But now, he didn't hide it. Sherlock could see, and he was sure that also Lestrade saw that (he couldn't be _that_ blind), that John was more trained than before. Thin like then when they met first time, but the punch had been very controlled. John had got more training.

"You… you _work_ for _Mycroft_. And he never told me that _you are alive_. I though you were _dead_ John!"

John leaned heavily on his cane. "I came finally back five months ago. Before that, we met and he offered a job, and I accepted that. Then he tried to find you. But you, _you_ didn't want to have anything to do with _him_. So don't blame him. After he told me about you I asked not to tell anything."

Sherlock was more annoyed than angry. "Oh, and this? This was some kind of revenge then? I was dead, you were dead…"

John's rage rose again. "Damn you Sherlock! I wasn't even sure that I actually _wanted_ to see you again!" John yelled back and Sherlock heart skipped a beat. _John_ _didn't_ _wanted to see him_?

"Then why you came?" He asked more quietly. Again John avoided his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe this was mistake. Maybe I just should go now."

And John turned to leave.

And the panic hit.

"No. Please, no, don't go." Sherlock reached forward, bushed Lestrade away and took John's hand. "No, please, no, don't, I can't… I though you were dead. But you are here. What ever happened, please, John, I need you. I need you here. You are alive. I'm alive. We can… we can..."

That pleading voice was something new from Sherlock. John turned to stare him surprise. Lestrade have to look away, he couldn't watch this. Those two, never learned, but maybe this time...

John put his hand over Sherlock's hand and they just stood there for a while.

"We can try. We actually have work to do." John said finally and pulled his hand away.

"Yes, yes we have. Work. The case. Lestrade." Sherlock turned and took the tissue what Lestrade offered to him. Then it hit him. _John was alive._

"You are alive."

"Yes." John sighed.

"No. I mean, Moran will come after _you_." When Sherlock realized this his mind went empty. _No, no John. Not again. John was in danger._ Like reading Sherlock's mind John's eyes hardened more. "I can take care of myself." There was so absolutely certainty that Sherlock couldn't say much to that. But it didn't wipe away his rising fear.

"So, dare to tell me what is going on?" Lestrade asked, his eyes wandering between the men.

"We are after Sebastian Moran. Ex-military sniper, the right hand of Moriarty. The only one who is left." It was John who answered. Sherlock was thinking, fast.

"Left?" Lestrade though that did he really wanted to know? Was there any choices, like _not to know_?

"The others are, done." Sherlock answered and sat. John leaned over him, his hand carefully examining the nose. Sherlock winched. "Three years Sherlock, you hunted them down?" He asked like he already didn't know. How John's gentle fingers studied his face and nose, eyes a bit warmer than moment ago, just tiny almost invisible smile on his lips.

How much he had missed this. He almost lost track of his though again.

"Every single one. But this Moran is smarter than anyone else. He had avoided me two years now."

"He had avoided everyone since…" John started but stopped. Sherlock watched him. "You know him."

John nodded. "Met him. Once. That was enough. Disappeared soon after that. We were in Iraq. He's a mad dog. A smart mad dog. Hunter."

"Exactly what Moriarty wanted." Sherlock murmured and winched when John pressed the tissue on his nose. "Not broken, just sore. You need ice."

"Really?" Sherlock murmured and John actually looked bit guilty.

"So this Moran." Lestrade cleared hit throat. The tension between those two was palpable and it made him want to run out of the room.

"The original plan was that he will come after me. But I know that he will try first kill John. He wants revenge. He wants to look me right into eyes and watch me die. But first he wants me suffer." And he watched at John.

"So he comes after me." John sighed, sitting beside of Sherlock and rubbing his leg. Was that real pain, or was John gained the PTDS again? This time Sherlock couldn't say for sure. But definitely something was off.

"So, the plan?" Lestrade asked.

"Those burglaries all over the London with two murdered. I'll solve that." Sherlock said with confidence. Lestrade just nodded. He had his own orders from John with meant Mycroft.

"I know where they hit next time. They have after some important information."

Lestrade didn't even blink for that. Of course Sherlock knew.

"So, you are going to just jump back in the business and make yourself target."

"Pretty much so, yes. But _now_ he comes after John, so_ he's_ the bait." Sherlock pointed John who groaned.

"Oh, ta." John muttered looking resigned. Oh, this was Sherlock, he knew not to mess with him and his plans.

"That's it?" Lestrade frowned.

"John will be guarded. Moran will think that I have given up when I come public again. But it will take couple of days before he act. He waits, study us, watch that he can actually kill us."

"How long then?"

"The next break is tomorrow night. After that; a week. He plans carefully. I have to speak with Mycroft about some details though. I let you know the address later."

"And that's it? Coming out with a loud pang? Solving crimes again? John, are you actually willing to put up this?" Lestrade asked with disbelief. John's mouth twisted and he looked Sherlock.

"Fine by me." Then he rose and again his eyes hardened. His voice was low and steady but there was deadly edge. "Sherlock, I say this now and you listen carefully. If you ever _ever_ again try anything anything like that, I hunt you down myself." It was a promise. Then John turned and left.

"That, was something Sherlock. That was the scariest thing I have seen for a while coming from anyone." Lestrade said. Sherlock glanced at him. "Remind me again when the time comes that I'll never go John's bad side. Ever again."

Lestrade smiled. "He'll forgive you Sherlock. It may take some time, but he will."

"I can hope." Sherlock mused and followed his friend.


	7. Home again

"So, where we go now?" Sherlock asked rolling after John, not noticing the staring eyes.

"We go home." John answered.

"Home?"

"To Baker Street."

Sherlock stopped.

"I bought it. " John explained, not looking back.

"You?"

"Seven months ago, when it came back on the market."

"You want me to live with you again?"

It took some time John to answer. "Have you any other plans that I should know? Some other place to be?" He stepped inside the elevator. "Do you come or not? There are others who also need this elevator you know."

"No. Baker Street is fine." Sherlock murmured.

Home.

They were going home.

Sherlock smiled. He couldn't believe it.

When they walked toward the black car what was waiting front of Yard, they heard someone calling John.

"Heard that you've come back John!"

John turned and first time Sherlock saw him actually smiling.

"Sean. My god, never though seeing you here."

Sherlock eyed the man. They looked alike. Both short and blond. Sean seemed to be ten years older than John. Irish. IRA, former, now mercenary? He should remember this man.

"Got your message. Fergusson said that he's happy to help you. Anything, that he can take his revenge against the Iceman." Sean laughed.

"Admiral Fergusson?" Sherlock asked and frowned. He had once met the man in Diogenes club with Mycroft. Sean turned to look the taller man.

"And you must be Sherlock Holmes. Heard a lot about you. And yes, Admiral Fergusson, my boss."

Oh.

"So you are Sean Dillon. We missed each other in Israel last month."

"Nothing go past you? So, if you two are working together again, I don't want to up on your way. The Ghost and The Hollow together, no chance to criminals anymore in this town. Oh, yes, heard how you took down that Moriarty's spider web. Good job." Sean steppe past John, leaned forward, his eyes locked in Sherlock and whispered. "If you hurt John again, I'll you." Then he stepped back and smiled again looking John who eyed him angrily.

"It's good to see you John. I take care of things myself. Trust me?"

"Always."

The handshake was warm and long. "Then see you around." Sean walked away.

"Interesting man." Sherlock murmured. "You two worked together?"

"Sort of. He trained me a bit."

"The Hollow?"

John didn't answered, just continued his walk.

"Is there something going on with admiral and my dear brother?" Sherlock was curious and he didn't want to push John too much now. John laughed shortly.

"Isn't there always? They are friends, but also rivals, stepping over tiny border of legal and illegal."

"And you asked his help? Why?"

"Something came up." John avoided to answer anymore and stepped inside the car.

"Anthea." He greeted the woman. "John." Not looking up on her phone she just gave him the keys. "Everything is there."

"Thank you."

"Was that Dillon moment ago?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Mycroft is coming at four."

"How nice." Sherlock sighed. "Letting us to know when to run."

The rest of the trip went in silence. John gave Sherlock his key.

When they stood front of Baker Street 221 b, it was nothing had chanced. They walked up the flat through the familiar hallway. There were only minor changes. Wallpapers were new but similar than old ones. There were boxes full of his belongings. Mycroft was stored them away. The furnitures were exactly same ones. And John's goods, there wasn't much in the first place.

"Sentimental, Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered when touched John's familiar chair. In someway it all felt suddenly unreal.

Over the fireplace were some small items. Small wooden statue from Africa. There was a picture of a woman. It was taken middle of the sand desert. Beautiful, proud, noble woman. How she stood, how she hold her posture. But also very sick. Those eyes, full of warmness like John's before.

"My wife, Mary. She died." John said suddenly behind him and Sherlock stared the picture even more.

"What happened to you John?"

For a moment Sherlock though that John wouldn't answer. The atmosphere was suddenly heavy and full of sorrow when John took the picture and hold it like it was about to disappear. His voice was hollow.

"When I went to Africa I met her there. We were captured together. We escaped together. We lived there. We were happy but she was dying, we couldn't came back to England. So I married her there. She died in my arms one beautiful night when the stars were so bright. I buried her there, in the sand. And she left everything to me. That's it."

But that wasn't everything, Sherlock though. John had gone through the hell again. Survived again. John visibly shook himself back in reality and went to look something from the table. Sherlock noticed absently his violin on its own place.

"I want you to sign these." John offered the papers and Sherlock took them, eying them.

"What are these?"

"The papers what shows to everyone that if anything happens to me, you are my next kin. We should have done this years ago. "

"After all, you still trust me?" Sherlock braved himself to ask, still, he was afraid what he would hear. John watched him and finally smiled.

"Why don't I? I… I trust you Sherlock. I always have. What you did, I can understand that but, it's still hard to forgive. I'm sorry if this isn't going to work anymore. I'm chanced…" Sherlock shook his head. "No, no you're not. You are still the same John Watson who I met years ago in Bart's. I can see it. What ever happened to you over these three years, I know that deep inside you still are that John Watson. Nothing can chance that. Nothing." He was sure about it. Under those hard eyes, there would be his John. His. Why he though John being _his_?

"I hope that I could be as sure as what you are." John sighed, but the smile didn't disappeared. "I think you should call Mrs Hudson. I know you met her."

"Why?"

"Maybe she wants to be here again. And this time, maybe she can actually be our housekeeper." John suggested.

Sherlock smiled. "But she doesn't know that you are alive. And, she still hopes that you actually are alive. She'll be happy."

John's smile was dry. "Even Harry doesn't know yet."

"Why haven't you told to anyone?"

"Why should I have told? Oh, I have to call them. And Sarah, I think. Before they read it from the news papers."

"Don't bother. I'm also dead, so two of us appearing in same time isn't so much."

John rolled his eyes. "I think I still call them. After that I go and take some nap before Mycroft comes. I haven't slept much last night and I can't deal him if I have half asleep." John turned and headed back to his old room.

"John." Sherlock called.

John stopped and turned to watch him.

"Why you bough this place?"

John tilted his head and let his eyes wander over the room before looking at Sherlock. "Because… This is home."

Sherlock nodded. He couldn't ask more, like why John hadn't moved in before. "It's good to be home."

"Yes, yes it's."

Sherlock sat and listened John's walk up the stairs.

It hurt. God it hurt and he couldn't understand why it hurt so much. John had married someone. He was a widow. Sherlock watched the papers and signed them. Why they never though that before? It was so natural. John was his doctor; he knew everything about Sherlock's life. And Sherlock knew John's, although there was something new things what they both needed to know each others. They lived together, they work together, and they shared most of the things. He slumped on the sofa and stared the ceilings.

He was home.

With John.

He would make this work out.

He would keep him safe.


	8. Something about Moran

"Tea?"

"Where is my skull?"

Mycroft stared at Sherlock, then the boxes what were opened, and the belongings what were speared all over the flat. It was familiar sight. It felt home.

Sherlock had been busy.

Mycroft turned to look at John who offered him the teacup.

Sherlock turned to look at John.

"John?"

"It's… somewhere." John murmured avoiding both pair of eyes, walking to look out of the window.

"He's my friend!" Sherlock almost cried.

"I… find it. Promise." John took sip of his tea and tried really hard to remember what he had done to the skull three years ago. It was somewhere, for sure.

John frowned.

_Maybe. _

"Oh how you could do that to me?" Sherlock slumped on his chair.

"Don't start sulking now Sherlock." Mycroft scolded him and almost sit John's chair but Sherlock's stare stopped him doing so, so instead he moved beside the sofa. "I see you worked it out."

They all turned to watch the wall above the sofa. Sherlock had been _really_ busy that day. The wall was covered with papers, pictures and middle of it was London map, revealing all things from the burglar gang.

"Of course. We catch them tomorrow." Sherlock chuckled with self-satisfaction.

"Indeed. I have to…"

They heard how front door opened and something heavy landed on the floor, then running steps in the staircase.

"Mrs Hudson, how nice to see you again." Mycroft greeted but ignoring him Mrs Hudson was run to hug John.

"My dear dear John. Oh, all of my boys here again."

Sherlock's eyebrow rose when he glanced at Mycroft. He never had though including his brother to Mrs Hudson's _boys_.

"Oh, your nose Sherlock!"

"My fault." There was no even hint of remorse in John's voice.

"John! It isn't nice. Not after these years when you have been separated. Are you sure you want me here John? I can't still believe that you…"

"Yes, we can go and see downstairs if there is something what you are missing. I bought some stuffs but… And I have to ask if you remember what I did to…" John surely leaded Mrs Hudson out of their flat.

"So, everything is in order." Mycroft looked his brother who shook his head, his eyes wandering again to Mary's picture. Mycroft let out a soft sigh. He had once, years ago met her, and remembered her very well. She had studied to become a teacher. Her family was one of England's oldest. Mammy had been waiting for that, perhaps, Mycroft would be fond of Mary, and ... But Mary had been very independent and adventurous. Too adventurous. Sherlock would have liked him, but no one ever been able to think of access to any girl for him. According to John, Mary had lived a happy life in spite of everything. Sherlock rubbed his eyes.

"I'm afraid that it isn't going to never be same."

"Naturally, but… I think you two just need time to settle down." Mycroft said carefully. If not Mary, there was still John.

"John's… lost." Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft nodded and lowered his cup. "And so are you. Too many lies, too many lost, too many secrets. You have to works those out yourself. I have done my best to you two. I regret some things but what I see now…" There was a rare smile. "I see hope, Sherlock. For both of you." And the smile was gone again. "I leave now. Good luck."

Sherlock hesitated, but he couldn't but ask. "Mycroft. About John. Does he still work to you?"

Mycroft stopped on the door. "Why don't you ask that from him?" And he left. He wished luck to John who rolled his eyes and Mrs Hudson thanked him from everything. Mycroft smiled politely. Anthea waited him in the car.

"How's John?"

"Good, eventually I think. Anything about Fergusson?" He stirred his eyes thinking what was going on.

"Nothing."

"They are up something. And John is middle of it, I'm sure of it."

"Maybe John is looking a new job." Anthea suggested and Mycroft closed his eyes.

"I hope not. That would mean that he would not stay with Sherlock."

"You mean…"

"I hope. I really hope, the sake of both of them."

Anthea nodded and moved on the other things.

#

Sebastian Moran was, like most of the people usually said, very handsome man. Tall, dark skin, soft brown eyes and neatly cut hair and with manners like a true gentleman's. But same time he was a hunter. His eyes piercing, his steps soft, his movements steady and he was fast if he wanted. He was reading the News with growing interesting.

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson are back. How, _intriguing_."

The woman behind him leaned over his shoulder and read.

"So, he gave up hunting you?" She sounded bored.

"So its _seems_. But I'm not so sure. But, if this's a trap, why but his dearest friend on the line. _Captain _John Watson."

"You know him?"

"Oh, I know him. This eye is thanks to him." His face distorted to Wolf-like grimace. His left eye was blind and there was a small, almost invisible scar under it. The woman's finger followed its line.

"How _unlucky_ to him."

"Indeed. But them under surveillance. I want to know everything about their movements." Moran's voice was like sharp steel what went through the hardest rock. The woman backed off, knowing that she should keep her distance now.

"You are going to kill them."

"Eventually, yes. I just need to think, who goes first."

* * *

_If_ someone was thinking about Sean Dillon, it's from Jack Higgins's bookserie. You should read Thunder Point first.

There had been other ligh crossovers like Plant and Jury who are from Martha Grimes' bookserie, and of course you know who is H. Poirot, although I chanced his age. I really should come up more Plant, his persona is one of my favorites.

"

And really, thank you :)


	9. I can't say it

John was tired. Physically because due the lack of sleep. But most of all, mentally. Being around Sherlock took him more effort than what he had realized. It wasn't like they haven't already slipped back on the routine. John knew what Sherlock wanted, when he needed something, when he got his crazy ideas and just sprinted off not saying anything. And John was there, always step behind of him, waiting, protecting, like a shadow. Like before. It was so familiar, so comforting. But there was also a dance around each other carefully; not knowing exactly was this right thing to do, _to feel_. There still was some lack of trusting. There was a fear that the other would be gone on matter of seconds. They keep looking each other all the time and if either one was gone, there was moment of panic.

So tired.

John leaned forward, pushed his hands through his hair, pushed his head over his knees and breathed.

Just, breathe. He could handle this. He couldn't back off it now.

"Coffee?" Somehow familiar voice asked and John looked up. He tried to remember this men's name. "Melrose?"

Tall man who looked like a professor who belonged to some library and not in the police station, smiled. "Funny to see you in here. Take this. It was for Jury but he's delayed again I'm afraid."

John took it. It was black like a night and good. Sherlock appeared around the corner and didn't seem surprised to see the man.

"Melrose."

"Sherlock." Melrose's eyebrow rose a bit with surprise, but he didn't say anything.

"I see you have met my cousin." Sherlock eyed his older cousin lightly curiously.

"Yeah, in your funeral." John looked his friend pointedly. Sherlock chose to ignore it.

"Your boyfriend here?" Sherlock asked from Melrose who smiled.

"Witch one?"

Sherlock's eyes stirred and Melrose laughed. "Not that I have any boyfriends or girlfriend. I'm here with Jury, and if you want to know about Marshall, he is in Venice."

"You seem close enough to be together." Sherlock murmured, not fully believing his cousin.

"I can say same." Melrose glanced at John who blushed, but somehow he couldn't deny it. He couldn't watch Sherlock who moved suddenly nervously. Melrose's eyes widened when he watched both men's reactions and grinned. "I go. Good to know that you two are actually alive. Come dinner sometime. Both of you."

And then he was slipped away like he had never even been there.

John rose, took his cane and there was awkward silence.

"You didn't say it." Sherlock said finally, pointing out that usually John was the one who started to protest about their assumed relationship. John shook his head. "Why should I? They never listen anyway."

"But usually, you always say it."

"If you haven't noticed, I stopped saying it so often sometime after The Woman."

Sherlock frowned. "Really?"

Their eyes met. John couldn't believe himself. He couldn't believe what he though he was seeing in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock seemed somehow shocked, but also so happy. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted.

"Okay both of you, you can go. Good luck with the press. There is someone's waiting you two." Lestrade appeared and they both startled.

"Ta." John started to walk away and left stunned and very hard thinking Sherlock behind.

"Everything okay?" Lestrade asked and for a moment Sherlock just blinked his eyes. "Yes, yes, thank you." And he hurried after John. Lestrade blinked. Sherlock never thanked.

"John, we need to talk."

"Yes, we need. I'm tired. Five days now, I think that I can explode. I'm so tired of this… this… Tired of this _dancing_ around. "

"On this case or me?"

"No, yes, both, I mean…"

Sherlock grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Look at me John."

And John looked.

What Sherlock saw was fear, but also hunger. First time John's eyes were alive.

"What?" John asked, his voice shaking.

"I said it before. I don't want to lose you never again. I want that you are here, with me, always. I…"

John rolled away again.

"John!"

"Don't say it, please don't say it." John begged, and slammed the Yard's front doors open with one powerful push. They stormed out. Sherlock felt himself frustrated. "I'm also tired to think this whole thing. I just want that we talk about it. I know that you are still grieving after Mary…"

John turned around.

"No, no I'm not."

Sherlock stopped like there was a wall between them two.

"You don't?"

"No, because… Because you are here." How lost John looked.

Hope, Sherlock though, there was hope.

"After you died, it took one day to realize." John said looking more and more confused. "And it was too late. And I pushed you back of my mind and find something new. And I lost her. And then, there you are, alive. Never actually left. When I heard it… When Mycroft said that…" John felt sick again, he saw how Sherlock tried to touch him but he stepped back. "I though that I can say it. I though that when I see you, I can say it. And what you said then… What you said now… I couldn't believe… But…"

"Why don't you say it?" Sherlock whispered, wanting to know. Wanting to _hear_. Oh how much he just wanted to hear John to say it. He had never before wanted something more than hear John say it aloud. To him. And Sherlock smiled because he was so sure now. This was it. This was what he wanted. He wanted John. His John. But John was moving away. _Whywhywhy…_

"Not now, not _now_ Sherlock." Again John was on the move. Sherlock stared after him.

_Why?_

"Why this is so complicating? John?! John, what ever you have to say, you can say it!"

But John didn't stop. The familiar black car bend front of them. Someone called Sherlock's and John's name. Asked them to stop. Mycroft was out of car before it stopped. And his face…

Vaguely Sherlock registered what was happening around them.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

"John, I love you!"

_Bang_


	10. Breaking the silence

Sherlock's hand rose. His fingertips reached to touch John.

_I love you._

John had turned to look at him. Those beautiful eyes watching him like never before. Full of love.

_Bang_

The shot rang through the streets, breaking the beautiful silence around them.

Sherlock froze.

John jerked forward. One step. His hand was reaching Sherlock's.

Something red on his chest.

Then John was falling, falling, falling through the eternity.

John, hitting to the ground.

Sherlock blinked.

Red.

Too much red.

_Blood. _

"NO!"

People screamed. Someone grabbed him and started to drag him away.

Away from John.

"NO! JOHN!"

"I'm not going to lose you too. Not anymore. Lestrade, help me. I have to get you two out of here."

"John, John!" Sherlock screamed and for a moment he was free and he ran.

Someone tackled him.

"Let me go! Let me go! John!"

But John didn't move. His eyes were closed. There was pool of blood under him.

"Through the heart." Sherlock whispered when his hands were cuffed and Lestrade dragged him away. He was tossed on the waiting car.

"No, no, this isn't happening. This isn't real." Sherlock murmured rocking his body back and fort when the car drove away.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, easy, look at me, Sherlock, look at me." Lestrade begged but Sherlock couldn't reply. All what he could see was John. "This is not happening. Not John. I promised, I promised, I promised to protect him. I promised."

"I'm so sorry. I…" Lestrade pulled the younger man on his lap, shooting him gently. He didn't know what to do, what to say. He was equally shocked by the events. Only Mycroft's calmness had driven him to act. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft sat there, like lonely island, not looking them, his eyes hard and cold. The phone ringed and he answered. His voice so full of rage that Lestrade couldn't believe that someone would be so angry. And for God's sake, this was Mycroft.

"Yes. Very well. You sure? I tell him. Good. I take that you will handle this. Yes. What ever its takes." Mycroft shut the call angrily. "That was Anthea. She'll take care of the situation."

"You said, you said you were going to keep us safe. Keep John safe." Sherlock said quietly but surprisingly not accusingly. Mycroft looked him, calmed himself again. Or tried.

"I know. I'm sorry Sherlock. I failed again. We hunt down the man who did this. I hunt down the man who took him from us." There was bitter in his voice.

"He's dead. For sure now. He's not coming back this time. There's no hope anymore." Sherlock voice chanced from sad to resignation, still he was leaning against Lestrade who hold him, not knowing what else to do.

"No, he isn't." Mycroft sighed and they fall in silence. Sherlock retreat from Lestrade and leaned forward, watching his brother.

"No." Mycroft said before anyone said anything. But he knew his brother.

"I want that."

"No."

"I'll work for you Mycroft. Just give me the Carte Blanche."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade started but then he saw the man's face. They couldn't stop him anymore. Mycroft saw that too, and he weighed their options.

"Very well. You got your Carte Blanche." Mycroft said coolly.

"I hunt him down." Sherlock hissed through his teeth.

"I know. And make him pay."

"With pleasure."

#

"It wasn't any of us. But we know that there is bounty from his head. Been a long time actually. He had made some enemies during these years. And someone took it. That's how it is." The woman sighed watching his boss and lover cursing long and earnestly. "Sherlock will think that it was me." Moran hissed. He was beyond anger now. His whole plan was coming down with huge rumble. He didn't like it. Not liked a bit. "And now he's more guarded than before. Oh, I really want to see that man who was able to go through the Iceman's security. I have to admit, that was brilliant."

"Do we hire him?" The woman asked and Moran grinned. "No, we kill him."

"Of course. And Sherlock?"

"We have to strike before we are late again."

"No time to mourn?"

"Do you think that Sherlock would mourn after anyone? No, he comes after me, for revenge. Like before. And now, we wait him."

#

"Was this right thing to do?" Lestrade asked, in his hand third glass of whisk and he think that he would still need more. Mycroft was just handed the Carte Blanche to Sherlock who was hurried away.

"What else? He would go even if he hadn't that."

"You think he find that Moran? He didn't found him before why we came up this plan."

"_Before_ he was tired. Three years Lestrade. Hunting down Moriarty's men. He had never done anything like that. But now, there is new motive. When he first wanted to just protect you all, now he wants his revenge. I'm sure you hear him before the shot. What he said to John. He will hunt Moran down."

"And kill him?" Lestrade didn't like the idea. Sherlock killing anyone, although he never doubt that he couldn't do that. And Moran absolutely deserved it.

"Maybe. Hard to say. To this day he has killed only as his self-defence."

Now Lestrade was surprised. "You mean that he did not go after Moriarty only to kill them?"

Mycroft looked at him with a little amused. "Sherlock? Far from it. He is a lot twisted than that. Let's just say that he brought out them, usually. If someone could kill, it was John. He never hesitated. Never, if he knew what was going on. But…" Mycroft sighed. He poured more brandy in his class. "I hope that he not drive himself too far."

And Lestrade was suddenly realicing that maybe he may never see Sherlock again. Sherlock loved John. He would do anything to revenge his lover's death. Anything, not caring if something would happen to himself. Mycroft was frozen, the glass on his lips.

"No. I think that I'm missing something. Something very important what had been right under my nose." He murmured, looking the glass, and the brandy, and out of the window, how the sun was already settling. And it hit him. "Oh. _Oh_."

Lestrade watched him suddenly grinning like a madman.

"What?"

Mycroft emptied his class. "Oh, you'll see. Come, we have some work to do."


	11. Moran and

Sherlock's secret army, John was laughed once when they had had to resort his Homeless Network's skills. After that John had become one of the trusted person among them. He was their doctor. John, who always knew. When Sherlock and Mycroft deduced, John just knew. When Sherlock read people about what they were doing, John always knew why. Because John was emotional. John, kind soul who helped everyone. John, who didn't hesitated to use his medical _and_ weapon skills to protect everyone. John, who could use just his soft voice to calm everyone. John, who was a captain whose voice reached everyone. John, who was usually so invisible and underestimated.

John, only one who could restrain Sherlock with one word.

John, Sherlock's trusted partner.

John, his only love.

John…

Dead.

And Sherlock…

Sherlock was beyond the hurt and mourning. He was a man who had just lost everything.

He didn't hesitated ruthlessly use his contacts. But Sherlock wasn't only one who wanted revenge. Most of them who John was saved wanted and there was lot of them.

And they find him.

After two nights hunting, they had found Moran.

And Sherlock knew that it would be a trap. It was most likely that he would be killed, but damn, he would take Moran with him.

Walking through the abandoned warehouse he again checked the gun. There were five floors but Sherlock headed straight to the top, he knew that Moran would wait him there. When he stepped in the darkness, he found Moran standing by the window looking out. Sherlock's hand rose. His aim was steady.

"I heard that you confessed your love for him. What you think that would be answered? Piss of?" Moran asked, grinning, not looking, knowing that Sherlock never heard the answer and it hurt more than bullet through his head.

"I'll kill you. I make you suffer." Sherlock hissed and Moran started to laugh.

"The beautifulness of this is that I didn't kill him." Moran turned to look at him and Sherlock froze. "I don't believe you."

"Oh for God's sake, use that smart head of yours." Moran sighed starting to walk toward his enemy. "Oh, he had a lot of enemies, maybe more than you, maybe even more dangerous than any of yours. The reward was, huge." He watched how Sherlock's hand wavered a bit. Moran smile grew wider. He pointed his eye. "Do you know that he did this to me? You have read our files, I'm sure. Mycroft is in position where he can get any files in hands if he wants. But did you know about this? I see you didn't know. Let me tell. We were together with SAS training. There was an accident. Just little explosion and they blamed me. Me! Can you believe it? Yes you believe it, because it was me. And John knew, he saw it. Everything. But when I tried to silent him, yes, I tried to kill him; he took his knife and defended himself. And I lost my eye. Do you want to know what I planed for him? No, I wasn't going to kill him. First maybe I think about it but then I though that no, I would take both of you. Make you watch how John would lose his both eyes and then kill you but let him live." Now he was standing just two meters from Sherlock, watching how the anger just rose. How the finger pressed lightly the trigger.

"Stop that Sherlock. I can't let you do that." Someone said behind of Sherlock and he felt how the gun was pushed against his head. He knew this voice.

"I think you two have met when she worked to Moriarty." Moran said and Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Irene?"


	12. Irene

Of course it was Irene.

The Woman, like he always called her. Here, with Moran.

"What is going on?"

With in such a familiarity Irene stepped closer holding her gun up and blow its handle to Sherlock's head and he fell, but he didn't lost his consciousness.

"This is going on." Moran was now too close of Sherlock and his head spinning he didn't saw the boot coming, hitting him in the ribs and send him on his back. He gasped air.

"Tsk." Irene clicked her tong and Moran stared her coldly. "What? Is this what you are going to do him now? Beat him up? I'm disappointed. I though that I could see him suffer." Irene asked and Moran shrugged. "No, I'll make him pay." Moran draw out his knife and studied its long sharp edge. "This will hurt. I promise." He smiled at Sherlock who was tried to get up. But Moran's kick send him again on the floor.

"Now, where to start? Eyes? I know what will be the last part." Moran placed the blade against Sherlock's chest. "Your heart."

Sherlock tried to focus, tried to think, but he couldn't make himself move. Some of his ribs were broke and the pain confused him. He felt the blade on his cheek and the pain…

"Put that knife away." New voice commanded.

The time halted for a moment.

Everything stopped.

Sherlock watched right into Moran's eyes and then they both turned to watch.

Sherlock couldn't speak when he turned to see who was stepping inside the room.

_Johnjohnjohn…._

"John Watson? Oh, this is just too good to be real!" Moran laughed and backed off from Sherlock.

"John?" Sherlock tried to get up but Irene kicked him to stay low.

"Me. Sorry Sherlock." John grinned guiltily and walked slowly near them, his gun aimed to Moran.

"How?" Was the only thing what Sherlock could ask right then. What was he missing? What he hadn't noticed? How John was alive?

"Rubber bullet with fake blood and paralyzing needle. It hurt, really hurt. And broke two of my ribs." John avoided his gaze, his only focus at Moran who was now holding his knife very differently, ready to throw it.

"Shoot him Irene!" Moran commanded and Irene's gun moved a bit and now it pointed at Moran. The man watched the woman like he couldn't believe that she was actually betraying him. Irene just shrugged elegantly her shoulders and her voice was full of bity. "So sorry darling, but I'm afraid that I don't work for you."

"She works for me." John said and Moran turned to look at him again. Now he was shaking with rage, his hand rose.

Two guns went off same time.

Two bullets hit same time.

But before those Sherlock saw how the silver blade flashed and John jerked slightly.

"John!"

There was moment of shocked silent when John just watched how Moran fell, a hole in his forehead and his heart. "I should have done that earlier, years ago." John said his voice calm. Sherlock was finally on his feet when John gave up and dropped on his knees. The knife was hit on his right arm.

"It's nothing." John said when Sherlock knelt front of him.

"Nothing? That's nothing? John…"

"I think he know, he _is_ a doctor after all." Irene said, getting Moran's cell phone. "You worked for John?" Sherlock asked and took John's gun and put that away and tried to think was it better to take knife out now or let medic to handle it.

"John contacted me. You know, we met in Morocco, what was it, two years ago? When you and Mary were escaped."

John' and Irene's eyes met. Both remember that meeting. Both promising that they would never speak what happened then to anyone.

"After that we kept contact." Irene drained the phone's memory, and threw it away.

"You knew that Sherlock was alive." John realized then, but he couldn't be angry. He was too tired to be angry to anyone anymore. Irene laughed.

"Of course I knew. I helped him when he was in France, repaying some depts." Irene walked beside of Sherlock, bowed and her finger followed Sherlock's jawline. She watched the man longingly. "But then, he left me behind and I though that I would do my own job and I found Moran, but I hadn't way to contact Sherlock. But then you were there again. And then Sherlock came up a plan. But you got better. Tsk tsk John, I said that it was wrong turn."

"Was it?" John closed his eyes and felt how Sherlock supported him.

Irene studied the men. And her smile softened. Those two, he couldn't found more perfect pair in the world. "Or not, if he..." She looked at Sherlock, "Forgive you. Now, before the cops are here I have to leave. Mycroft don't know that I'm alive and I want to keep it that way as long as possible. Say hello to Dillon. It was nice to work together again."

Irene left. Disappeared into the night.

Sherlock frowned and looked at John. "Dillon. Dillon shut you."

"Yes." John sighed. Hell he was tired and he didn't wanted to deal this just now. Not here. Not knife in his arm, the wound bleeding, some ribs broken. He needed to go hospital. And so needed Sherlock too.

"You did this because… Because… Why?" Sherlock asked. John opened his eyes and raised his hand, touched Sherlock bloodied cheek and shook his head. That wound needed some stitches. Would Sherlock never forgive him?

"I know you Sherlock. I know what drives you forward and I used it. And then.. I never though that you… I'm sorry."

Sherlock's eyes were warmer than John had expected. "Are we even now?"

John's eyebrow rose. "I would think so. I really hope so."

"Hell of kind of payback John." Sherlock said, but he wasn't angry. There was just a relief in his voice. Never except Sherlock to react for anything normal way. John smiled.

"You still love me?"

Sherlock grinned, leaned toward John and kissed him. It was soft tender kiss, full of love, full of relief. Not heated, nothing like that, they were too tired to think anything else but that they were alive. Both of them. And finally together.

"Always." Sherlock whispered when the lips parted again.

"Love you too." John smiled and their foreheads touched and the eyes locked and they started to giggle. John took deep breath.

"Ow, it hurt."

"We have to get you in hospital."

"No, I just think we need a vacation."

"I know just right place to be, in Scotland. Far away from everything. Quiet place." Sherlock helped John up. They could hear the sirens outside of the building.

John stopped. "Oh!"

"What it is?" Sherlock looked worried but John just smiled.

"I remember!"

"What?"

"The skull, I remember where I put it."

**Don't know yet if I do one or two more chapters, but mainly, this was it. **

**Let me know.**

**Thanks**

**S**


	13. Aftermath

**I though a short epilogue because I got some alerts.**

**Thank you everyone.**

**S**

* * *

When Mycroft and Lestrade arrived on the scene, same time with the two ambulances, they saw John and Sherlock standing near the door, supporting each others. Sherlock seemed angry and refused to look John, who just looked amused.

"Are you alright?" Lestrade rushed forward worried about his friends. He was glad to see that John actually was alive, like Mycroft was deduced.

"Obviously not." Sherlock snarled and send a glare to John who was now escorted to the ambulance. "Do you know what he did my skull?"

Lestrade stared him.

"I never forgive him." Sherlock muttered when other medic came to take care of him.

"A skull. He is mad about that damn skull." Lestrade closed his eyes.

"You know what happened to it?" Mycroft asked, eyeing his brother and keeping his distance.

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I have to tell you sometime about that skull." Mycroft grinned and nodded toward the arguing men. "If you would? I can take care of this mess."

"That would be nice. Isn't John actually under your command?"

"Hmm." Mycroft moved away not answering and sighing Lestrade walked to speak John, who was now laying on the trolley, his jacked and shirt off and medic cleaning the wound. There were large bruises in his chest. They didn't said anything, just listened how Sherlock in the other ambulance continued his angry deduce about someone's affair.

"I think they are going to give him some sedative soon." John sighed.

"Would be wise. Are you two okay?" Lestrade asked and John nodded smiling widely.

"Just perfect, I think. There will be some things to discuss, but otherwise I think this is it."

"And you two are…?"

"Yes. But please, can you keep quiet about it for a while? As soon as we can we are heading away from London in vacation." John looked tired and Lestrade guessed that the man hadn't slept for a while now.

"You really need that, you both. You made hell kind of stunt. Right under our nose. Don't think that that is settled between two of us, but I'm glad to you really are alive. But, not third time John. Not anymore. Promise. My heart can't make it."

"Promise."

Then Lestrade was ushered out and the doors slammed close. He found Mycroft watching Moran's body, the others waiting in back round him doing what ever he was doing. Deducing again probably.

"Two shots." Mycroft said.

"John?"

"The other, yes, I think he aimed the head. But a knife in his arm, I don't think he shot second time."

"Sherlock?"

Mycroft studied the ground around them. "No. Someone else was here."

"That guy who shot John? What was his name…?"

"Dillon? No. He would never interfere. And I know he's out of country right now. Anthea?" Mycroft turned to look his assistant whose fingers fly over the pad.

"No trace about her."

"She is good, but let it be now. She deserves our gratitude this time." Mycroft turned and left the scene to others.

"I give you what you need to know when you hold the press conference."

"Right." Lestrade frowned.

"I'm going to the hospital. You?"

"I think I have got enough for this. So, I go home." God he was tired.

Mycroft nodded.

"Good night then Greg."

"Good night. Tell those two not come near of me for two weeks."

"I'll tell." And Mycroft left.

Lestrade stood middle of the blinking lights and shivered.

"I need a vacation." He murmured and slipped away and left Mycroft's men do their job.

It took nearly three weeks before he heard anything from Baker Street. It was a text message from John.

_In Scotland. Two weeks. See you then. Sherlock say hello. JW_

Two days later it was Mycroft.

_I think you need a vacation. I know a perfect place in Scotland._

Lestrade groaned.

* * *

**Happy New Year!**


	14. AN

If you want there is two sequel

M rated one shot Breaking the Water

and then

T rated long story Breaking the Heart


End file.
